Perennial Limbo: The Odyssey of Annie Cresta
by JokerMorrison
Summary: Post Mockingjay, with potential spoilers, exploration of the life of Annie Cresta; a deeply troubled and scarred woman, join the "broken" and "mad" Annie as she attempts to cope with ultimate loss and deal with the excruciating agony of existence, while forced to live in the perennial limbo that is her life. Rated T for language/insinuations/content etc.


_Author's Note_ - Hello everyone, I'm Glimmitch's husband, and as you know, she recently uploaded some simply incredible work to this forum (everyone should go read it), and needless to say, I am incredibly proud of her. It's always hard to stand on the mountain alone and present your work, work containing your blood, sweat and tears, and hope that people will accept and enjoy it. Out of my pride and eternal love for her, I have opted to stand with her, so that she doesn't have to go it alone, so I present to you, an Annie Cresta story I have been working on, and hopefully everyone enjoys this as well (as I am sure everyone will enjoy hers) - Glimmitch, I will always be here to support and love you, and I am so proud of you for all of your hard work, hopefully I can make you proud too.

_Perennial Limbo: The Odyssey of Annie Cresta_

_Part 1: The Monotony of Being, The Beauty of Companionship_

The cool sea breeze engulfs me, caressing my arms in its sharp embrace. Its salty lash whips against my face, a gesture which would usually sting, but now makes me feel oddly alive, and I lean into it, feeling Poseidon's calloused fingers stroke my pale cheek, in attempt to alleviate my constant agony. It's been six months; six long months. Six months of a hellish eternity since I endured my personal apocalypse, when my world ended and my Poseidon was forced to return to Atlantis, leaving me isolated on the secluded shore.

Something resembling a smile washes over me, though most, aside from the four of us who had the dubious honour of living at The Capitol's pleasure, would consider it somewhat disturbing, they could never understand what this means. I gaze at the beach around me, the misty air now a vibrant shade of orange, kissed by the mid-evening sun, and aside from the towering wall of trees poised majestically behind me, their murky emerald foliage protecting me from the accusing eyes of my District 4 neighbours, and the soft sounds of the ocean rhythmically crashing against the shore, I am completely alone; in a word, perfect.

My bare toes dance among the sand, the black grains mirror my movements and dance with me, gently tickling my toes as they flow into the crevices between them, creating miniscule dunes, within each a small universe. For a brief moment I watch them intently, captivated by the formations and the way the darkness contrasts with my ashen skin, utterly entranced by the concept that in each of those universes there may be another Anastasia, one who also longingly begs the sea for her Poseidon to return; perhaps one still has him. A small tear rolls down my cheek, and before I explode into cries of anguish once more, I throw my head back, my dark hair matting amongst the sand, becoming one with it, camouflaging me from the world, allowing me a modicum of solace in how I can now pretend that I do not exist.

Here I feel natural, here I can be free, and long ago, in some distant other life time, it was because I could happily watch him; sweet, wonderful him, as he dove amongst the sea foam, pretended to fish for treasure, or simply sat with me, our fingers entwined in a perfect union. Everything was so peaceful, as we spent such beautiful, carefree days together, feeling so joyous and so contented, just to be with each other, and peer into one another's eyes, his world within mine, and mine within his. But tragically my love is gone, returned to the sea, and now I feel natural here, not for the memory of him, but because the black sand, in all its melancholic glory, doesn't merely understand me, but is more an existential part of my soul.

Though my being is cold, and my mind broken, I must admit that I take comfort in this daily ritual. Every day is the same, I am forced to wake by a friend calling to "check up on me", or "just to talk", or because "they have something to ask me", and I must then face the unrelenting harshness of reality, when I want nothing more than to simply return to that beautiful place of wonder where his eyes twinkle with life and joy, where he and I, and Nicky, can be a family once more. I know they worry about me, I know they care for me, and I too care for them all dearly, but if only they could see how profoundly their inadvertent cruelty hurts me, perhaps then they may be kind enough to leave me to my own devices. Who are they to judge me, to judge that dreaming has become my new reality; I don't criticize them, I haven't so much as breathed a word about how much I dislike Johanna continuing to use her mask of angst with me, when I know her far deeper than that, or how hard it is for me to see Peeta fawn over Katniss, when she acts so cold and cruel towards him, and he clearly deserves someone better, and I certainly haven't breathed a solitary word of Gale.

_Gale_! Even the mere thought of his name makes my blood run cold, and while I am distracted by the freezing cold overwhelming me, and the flashes of horror and brutality consuming my every thought, I am left completely vulnerable to the vicious spasms which overcome me. Soon I find myself shaking, screaming and fiercely pulling at my hair, and it's all I can do to stop myself from doing anything worse. It's always the same when I black out, something is triggered within me, a fragile cord of sanity snaps, and soon my love, or Mags, would be frantically attempting to calm my hysterics and coax me out of my screaming fit.

Things are getting worse, I can feel it, and so I desperately cling to what my doctor in 13 told me, that when I feel out of control, to think of things I have control over, to create a situation where I am in control and work backwards from there. It's somewhat crude I suppose, but effective, and taking Dr. Aurelius' advice, I continue to think about my daily ritual: awakened by my friends, disinterestedly wandering around the District just to get out of the house, then being phoned or visited by whoever is taking care of Nicky that day, just so I can spend a little time with my son, and finally, sitting on the beach in solitude until I drag myself to bed. It may not be too exciting, but I enjoy the solid structure of it, and I know it's always something I can rely on, and though I may be stuck in a state of eternal blandness, some of which is inspired by this, at least I can wrap this around me like a blanket of sanity, and feel comforted by, as though there is at least some normalcy within my life, some structure, something within my control, which is dependable and consistent, so that it doesn't have to be unrelenting torture until the day sweet death takes me, and I can be with my love once more.

Finally my breathing evens and my heartbeat slows; thankfully I am in control again, but am I truly in control? Is it actually me in control here, or the schedule? In many ways I realise that this should scare me, but the schedule brings me a sense of inner peace and serenity I haven't felt since he held me close to him. In front of me I hear the soft music of water as it careens along curvaceous contours of flesh, kissing each inch before returning to the pool from whence it came. His brilliant features slightly obscured by the waterfall mask he wears, but nonetheless his beauty still visible, and his majesty obvious. My heart soars and my eyes well with waterfalls of their own, and I can feel myself visibly quake as I struggle not to simply explode with the shock and joy I feel; my Poseidon has returned to me.

In his ever seductive, husky voice he whispers "I missed you Annie" and even now, after an eternity of pining for him, after the relentless agony of being without him, even now at the mere hint of his electrifying voice, I still find myself completely speechless, the very notion of which is enough to make me smile inwardly with nostalgia, as if a hint of normality has returned to my life, as though things really can get better, and so it is with the utmost joy that I awkwardly blurt out the only thing I can say, "Finny!", to which he smiles widely at me. It's small and very reserved, with only a hint of his radiant white teeth; it's a side of him which those perverted Capitol fiends, or even Johanna Mason for that matter, could never dream of seeing, it's a very sincere smile, within which his true self, and very genuine, honest emotions can be seen. Here I can see the real Finnick, my Finnick, and all of his emotions and vulnerabilities, all within this beautiful, perfect smile; my smile, reserved just for me.

"Why rule without my Queen?" he teases, "Without you Annie, I am not a king, but a lifeless shell. I simply cannot exist without you, you complete me, and thus, I have returned to you, and will remain by your side forevermore my Amphitrite". His love of the theatrical is ever present as he radiates his trademark, grandiose charm; it completely engulfs me, and I succumb to his wiles completely, finding myself totally at his will. Though momentarily it feels as though my body is no longer my own, it's much better this way, to give myself completely to my one true love, and trust him to treat me as royally as he says I deserve.

He leans in, whispering "I love you" against my lips, before gently brushing his against mine and uniting us once more, connecting us as one beautiful entity through the bonds of our love. The effect of his ruby lips caressing mine is absolutely breathtaking, and nothing short of magical. It enchants me in ways I cannot begin to describe, as astonishing feelings of adoration and delight trickle across every inch of my body, igniting a flame of passion within me, the likes of which has not been awakened since before the third Quarter Quell. As I kiss Finnick more feverishly, I feel gloriously light in this heavenly position, life is perfect once more. His love uplifts me to the upper echelons of Paradise where I am whole again, and the missing piece of my being is returned to me; he proclaims to be back, which is enough for me, and I am so overwhelmed by such brilliant joy that I can literally hear soft music, the sweet tones of which soothe me as my vision fails, and my eyes see nothing but eternal white.

It is then I realise that the eternal white I see is not actually the product of Finnick's sexual prowess, but actually the result of the mid-evening sun, or what little remains of it, as it desperately emits light in attempt to complete its work and remain alive, needlessly and remorselessly assaulting my eyes, briefly blinding me, as I am awakened from that perfect reality by the taunting sounds of my phone ringing, its sweet music becoming a chorus of pain. Sitting up, I throw my phone attempting to hit my wall, it, and the person who dared call me, deserves to be punished for ruining that magnificent moment and once again subjecting me to this, life without him. Foolishly, I forget my sandy surroundings, almost forgetting my nightly ritual, and the phone falls harmlessly to the soft sand below. Relenting, I realise that my feeble attempts at lashing out are futile at best, and give in, picking up my phone and answering it, why not? It's not as if I could be in any more pain.

"'Bout time mermaid, this is the third time I've tried to call you" taunts the brash voice of Enobaria, District 2's famous jagged toothed victor. "'Baria!" I yell, momentarily allowing myself a moment of relief from the unremitting tedium of life, as I realise that this must be the solitary ray of light in my otherwise cloudy life, today's Nicky time! "Sorry 'Baria" I half-heartedly apologise "I fell asleep", genuinely embarrassed that I missed her calls while selfishly, and shamefully indulging myself in my dreams. "Sleep huh? Lucky! I don't know what I would give to get to sleep again, can't really give my sanity though, already gave that!" she jokes, before exploding into a bout of raucous, grating laughter.  
Her sarcastic laughter, and seemingly flippant attitude, give way to much deeper emotional scars, ones which only a small number of people, being those of us who lived at The Capitol's pleasure, can truly understand. Like me, Enobaria was viciously and pointlessly tortured by Capitol sadists following the third Quarter Quell, and like me, it has had a profound lasting effect on her. Giving each of us an idiosyncratic torture best designed to break us, such as using Katniss against Peeta, or using nature, specifically water, against Johanna, they tortured us with that which we loved most or felt the most comfortable with, stripping away all that we held dear, leaving us feeling a strange cocktail of displacement and depersonalisation, along with the constant agony. For me they used Finnick, as I was constantly forced to watch computer generated videos of him dying in the most horrific ways, with the effect of the torture proving so powerful that, when he actually passed, I wasn't initially sure if it was actually true, or another cruel ploy from the Capitol, and I was left pitifully wandering the halls of District 13 afterwards, searching for my lost love.

For all of us who apparently wore our weaknesses on our sleeves, it was all too easy. For Enobaria however, it was different; a stoic recluse by nature, Enobaria not only displayed zero weaknesses, but also displayed a clear lack of care for any of her existing family and managed to keep all of her personal interests concealed, rendering them unable to be used against her. The only real unique trait she exhibited was her strong militaristic resistance as a "Career", and thus they opted to punish her accordingly, utilizing military training techniques against her, denying her the ability to sleep. It started fairly simply, she just had to stay awake, and to her credit, she valiantly managed to remain resilient for the first three days. Then on the third day she realised the true horror of what awaited her when, as she started to fall asleep, a guard violently jabbed her with a stun baton, electrocuting her to keep her conscious, and so it descended. Whenever she started to fall asleep, she received an electric shock, whenever her eyes started droop, caffeine shots were injected into her central retinal veins and soon her body adjusted to the lack of sleep, and now, from everything she has told me, she is left completely unable to sleep, and just like with the rest of us, this form of torture proved highly effective, leaving her blinded in one eye, though still strikingly beautiful, and highly unstable, just like the rest of us; at least she can look after Nicky 24 hours a day.

Most people still struggle to understand my, or Peeta and Johanna's, friendship with Enobaria, with her being one of the most infamous "Careers" to have ever graced the arena, not to mention being highly antisocial and sociopathic. But I personally have found her, despite the biting sarcasm, to be a highly misunderstood person, one who has a lot of warmness inside that has been long hidden following a life of anger and violence. Her and Johanna's friendship certainly seems logical, there is a brutality and a cruelty to both of them, not to mention enormous sarcastic streaks, within which they could both find common ground; rumours have even persisted for these past six months that they may actually be more than "just friends", but to be honest, I always thought that Johanna carried a torch for Peeta. Perhaps her and my friendship isn't so extraordinary, we both hail from "Career" districts, even though I never actually attended any academy lessons, as my parents, Ernie and Isabella, wished for me to grow up normally, instead of as a bloodthirsty monster. As noble as their intentions were, it almost proved to be my undoing when I was unexpectedly reaped and no one volunteered; I could almost feel their disdain for me as I reluctantly took my spot on the podium next to my district partner, they desperately wanted to see me get put in my place for acting as though I was morally superior. Lucky for Enobaria, she never had to worry about things like this, being so vicious and talented, and though I will be the first to admit that we are certainly unlikely friends, how could we not get along? I've seen Johanna screaming at, and begging, the dripping tap in her cell to stop, I've seen Enobaria converse with sleep-deprivation brought on hallucinations of her deceased father, Remington and I've seen the darkness within Peeta absorb all that was once good in him, leaving his soul broken and his spirit empty. We've seen each other put through hell and pushed to our very limits, we've seen the true essence of each other's souls, and as a result, we will be eternally linked.

"How's he been?" I jump, asking her perhaps a little too eagerly; yes, I am desperate to speak to my son, but I really shouldn't be rude to Enobaria, especially considering how lonely she is, and how much joy she secretly finds in our phone conversations. "Yeah, yeah, he's been great. Quiet as always, little guy barely made a peep" she says, with faux irritation in her voice, "I suppose I ought to put him on, considering that's what you really want, and not poor, lonely old 'Baria who everybody hates" she continues, sarcasm practically dripping from her voice. "It's cool mermaid, I know how hard it must be for you, losing your husband and not being able to see your only connection to him; well, at least I would, if I had actually lost anyone. But sadly for me, no one wants to get close enough to allow me to know what it feels like when I lose them, let alone what it feels like to love them". Aside from offering her the odd conversational filler to remind her that I'm still listening, I remain absolutely silent while she says this in attempt to show respect, this is a side of her that barely anyone gets to see and shows me just how close we are. A pang of guilt flows through me when I realise how selfish I have been in trying to rush her off of the phone, and though in many ways it is justified, when I think of just how incredibly lonely and misunderstood Enobaria is, I can't help but be ashamed of myself, especially when I consider how short-tempered she is, and how hard she tries to be patient with me. This is a person so misread that when we were all taken, the rebels actually didn't expect her to be tortured so badly because she hailed from District 2; I was so disgusted with this that I actually found the confidence to scream at Haymitch Abernathy afterwards for his ludicrous, callous comments, much to Finnick's delight. Finally, in response to her soul-baring comments, I take inspiration from Peeta and offer a quick jokingly optimistic comment, one I hope will help encourage her before we change the direction of the conversation, saying "Well 'Baria, don't worry about that, there may be hope for you yet, you just need to find the right piece of meat to sink your teeth into, right?"

She explodes into her trademark boisterous laughter once more, "You got that right toots! If only I lived in Four, maybe then I'd know how to fish better, I mean, I keep dangling the bait, but none are biting, you know?" she jokes, and I feel genuinely happy that I was able to bring her out of her depressed daze and help her laugh and joke once more, regardless of how cynical and dark her humour might be, or how jarring and harsh her laughter is. "Anyways, I would put the little guy on, but he's just sleeping a sec, so instead of waking him up, I thought I'd send you a little present". My heart sinks slightly, hearing Nicky Jr. try to talk is the only thing that makes life worth living right now, but nevertheless I do still have his best interest at heart, and I know how important it is for such a small child to get his rest, although I can't help but feel slightly let down, not to mention jealous at all the others who spend time with my son instead of me. My phone loudly beeps and I instinctively move it away from my ear, wishing that Enobaria could have given me a much clearer indication of what she meant, instead of attempting to deafen me. Moving it away, I look at the phone's brightened screen quick enough to notice it turn from the plain calling screen as it loads the photograph which Enobaria has sent me. This technology never ceases to amaze me, even if it always seemed so gaudy and unnecessary; but now, desperate for as many photos of my growing boy as possible, I was more than willing to dip into my victor's money and pay the extortionate prices for one, because now, in some small way, it feels like I am actually there with him, like I'm a good mother and am not missing every part of his life. "So whaddaya think 'Nie?" Enobaria asks, and for a moment I am honestly lost for words. I am ecstatic to see my son, who looks very handsome in this photo, but I am less than happy to see that it is a photo of him being held by a smiling Johanna Mason which, judging by her casual outfit, consisting of a plain white tank top and white cotton underwear, was taken this earlier this morning.

My feelings of jealousy surface once more, and for a brief moment, I can feel my eyes well up with tears. It's not just the fact that another person gets to spend far more time with my own son than I can, or even the fact that they are probably forming a maternal bond with him much stronger than mine, it's the fact that it's _her_. Yes, Johanna is a close friend, and we do understand each other far better than anyone else could, but I am still not sure if I am comfortable with the idea of her being around my child. It reminds me of the times when she was around my Finnick, and I would jealously wonder just what exactly the nature of their relationship was. Her toothy grin feels like a vicious smirk which taunts me and laughs at me for my ignorance, for my pain, just hinting at all the revolting things they seemingly did while my back was turned, while I trusted him not to. Thankfully I have my son's beautiful smile to quell my pain, and though he may be snuggling up to Johanna in this photo, it still reminds me that there is hope and innocence alive in the world, it reminds me to stay strong for him, and to keep persevering, because things can be okay. It is with a restored sense of optimism that I proudly respond "He's beautiful, isn't he?" Smiling widely at both my growing boy, and how strong I have managed to remain, even in the face of this, I am about to ask her more about Nicky, when I first notice the photo's caption "Just like his father..." causing my heart to drop even further, and my breath to catch in my throat.

"Yeah, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" Enobaria asks, and the pain and envy cripples me to the point where formulating words becomes an impossible task. "Honestly though, I am sure he would have been a great father and husband, and you guys would have been great together, you were both so glamorous and beautiful; me on the other hand, I like variety, I like 'em to be so different from me that I couldn't see any trace of me within 'em if I tried! I want someone gentle, intelligent, someone compassionate, not to mention frail, with glasses. Any chance you could introduce me to anyone like that 'Nie?" Enobaria asks, yet again making less than subtle hints about her completely unexpected crush on a certain victor friend of mine. One who relates to me heavily, having lost his wife in circumstances similar to how I lost my husband; one who I am supposed to be meeting today to council me on my loss, and help me with my grief, as I in turn council him. Though I do feel guilty about it, I am able to spare myself any further jealousy or pain this phone call has inadvertently brought me, as I quickly rush Enobaria off of the phone, stating "No one comes to mind, sorry 'Baria, gotta go" in a rapid, blurry succession of words, before I hang up on her and begin frantically running home, realising that, as usual, I have selfishly and carelessly let another person down, and am now hours late for my planned meeting with Beetee.

As I swiftly round the corner to mine and Finnick's Victor's Village home, I feel a pang of guilt as I see Beetee sat outside waiting for me, looking as pale and gaunt as ever, with his wheelchair rested against the smooth white walls of my home; I have let him down again. He doesn't necessarily seem fazed however, and hasn't actually noticed me bolting towards him, even when I shout his name, either he is upset with me and is acting bitter, something he would never do as when it comes to me, like Wiress, he has the unwavering patience of a saint, or much more likely he is distracted by something. I throw open the gate and lean back on it to catch my breath, and finally noticing my presence Beetee looks up from the book that distracted him and flashes me a warm, friendly smile, it's incredibly comforting but betrayed by the agony radiating from his demonstrative cobalt eyes, conveying a pain within him which I know all too well, a terrible guilt which tortures us constantly about the death of our spouses, our friends, and all of the innocent souls which died during the war, and that we selfishly get to live, while so many other good, more deserving people had to die.

Walking closer towards him, not wanting to waste any more of my time with him and looking to salvage whatever remained, I smiled and began instinctively tidying up his disheveled black hair, "So whatcha been reading?" Silently reading the page number and marking his place in his mind, he holds up the large looking leather bound book to me and I can clearly read the title 'Ulysses' as he says "Just started a little light reading while I waited for you An", "I am sorry about that" I reply "I lost track of time, how long have you been here". "Oh, don't worry, not long" he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling completely reassured until he continues "Just about two, three hours". As awful as I feel about everything, I can't quite take my mind off of one thing, "Wait, you've been here for a couple of hours, and you just started? You're almost done!" "Well, I would have been done by now An, but I just like to savor some passages", and absolutely flabbergasted, I sputter "You have to be about 600 pages in, just... How?" As cool as ever, always with an answer for everything, he smirks "Well, I'm fairly adept at speed reading", "How do you remember it all?" and again, without missing a beat he replies "Eidetic memory" and I can't help but feel like I should have known.

"Well for someone with such a good memory, you'd think you'd remember how to dress yourself" I say, commenting on his unkempt appearance which, despite consisting of his usual white shirt and red bow tie combo with a brown suit jacket and pants, appeared uncharacteristically untidy, troublingly a look he had been adorning more and more as of late. "You're a mess, you know that Ted?" He nods, smiling in amusement at my frustration and at my little nickname for him, a reference to the 'Tee' part of his name and just how supportive he has been to me since Finnick's death, reminding me of the days when I used to speak to my teddy bear as a child, the only one who I felt would ever listen to me. I lean down, attempting to ignore his newly grown salt and pepper stubble, and go to straighten up his off centre bow tie. He quickly shakes his head, "No, please, don't do that" he says in hasty, harsh tones and I pull away, feeling slightly dejected. He realises his mistake and his face drops slightly, he clearly didn't mean to upset me in any way, and he softens his voice to try to comfort me as he continues, "I'm sorry, It's just that, straightening up my tie, that was", his voice cracks slightly and he puts his hand over his eyes, the wounds are just as fresh for him as they are for me. In a futile attempt to distract himself, he takes off his thick horn-rimmed glasses and wipes them in his shirt, "Straightening up my tie was Wy's thing, you know? She did it every day, _every day_; it just made her so happy. She always said that it was her job, because she was my wife and I, her husband. It's funny, the things you remember; I remember her doing it the morning of the Quell, and just looking at her afterwards, when we had heard the news, and fearing that it would be the last time she would ever do it, and seeing in her eyes that she felt the same way... God, I wish we didn't have to be so fucking right all the time". I know exactly how he feels, it's not really a question of being untidy, keeping his tie slightly off centre, though it may not seem much, is a monumental gesture of his eternal love for Wiress, and the grief and regret he will carry with him forever.

I give my dear, pained friend a look of sorrow, not needing to verbally communicate just how awful I feel for him and that I too know exactly what he is going through. It's quite fortunate really, as I've never really been very articulate, and usually at such a highly emotional time, stress would always inevitably overwhelm me and render me completely speechless. In what feels like a life time ago, should I get a little incoherent, I would always have someone like Finnick around to interpret and translate for me; I now realise just how much everyone did to help me, and I would literally do anything to be able to thank them for everything they did and to tell them that, despite all odds, they really did help me, even Mags who, though she could barely communicate herself, still managed to interpret for me, only for Finnick to have to interpret for her. As it is, I have to concentrate ridiculously hard just to be able to hold minor conversations with people, and it was all I could do just to blurt out half responses to 'Baria earlier and not fall to pieces out of pure frustration and embarrassment. I guess that's another reason why I like spending time with Beetee so much as, having interpreted for his wife for many years, like Finnick he just gets me and generally understands whatever it is I am trying to say, even in the worst of times, meaning that I can just relax and be myself around him, something which, amazingly, helps my speech and coherence even more.

Wordlessly I wheel Beetee in and set him next to the plush white leather sofa next to my chair, as I walk away to fix us both a drink. I can't help but notice that he hasn't moved or stirred in the slightest, whereas most guests tend to instinctively reach for the television remote upon entry, as always my friend is deep in thought and his is clearly a beautiful mind far more sophisticated and occupied than, not just my own, but everyone in Panem's, especially after the death of his brilliant wife. Returning to the living room, now with drinks for us, a black coffee for him and a strawberry milkshake for me, I hand him his steaming cup and sink into my broken old chair, breathing what feels like my first sigh of contentment in quite some time. I cross my legs and smile, watching as the chair's cracked and faded leather comfortably adjusts to the shape of my knees after so many years of sitting this way, and though this chair is clearly deserving of retirement, I just can't bring myself to get rid of it, I'm just too sentimental when it comes to my belongings, especially ones that remind me of Finnick. Nostalgia briefly seizes me and I can almost see Finnick stood before me, his eyes filled with mirth, barely attempting to suppress a smile, as he faux chastises me for sitting with my legs thrown over the arm of the chair, mocking the way Mags used to do it to him, playfully complaining about how it would ruin the arm; now worn and cracked, I run my fingers along the armrest and smile, before gripping the bridge of my nose as I feel my eyes getting wetter, thinking fondly of my lost love, and just how right he was about everything.

Filling the awkward silence Beetee, following a large sip of the murky brown liquid he seems to enjoy so much, quickly states "Nothing like a cup of strong black coffee". "I'm glad you like it Ted" I add; personally I can't really understand his love of the drink, I only keep it here for guests, but it's far too bitter and earthy for me, I guess my palette is more inclined to sweeter tastes, like my milkshake. "I guess you're wondering what kept me, right?" "Not really, I assumed you were busy, regardless it's your business and I wouldn't want to pry An" he replies, I sigh and instantly feel worse, not once did Beetee ever think any less of me, not once did he question my motives or even get angry at me, instead he patiently waited for me and even did something productive, as opposed to festering with rage as someone like Haymitch would. Out of guilt I want to be honest with him, but I am almost too ashamed of myself to admit what happened, he smiles at me encouragingly and I feel myself cracking under the pressure; I wonder if this smile is real or just another clever tactic from a master manipulator who knows just what buttons to push, and I can't help but draw comparisons in this respect between him and Peeta, another great manipulator of people, and think that they are so alike here they could almost be father and son. To be fair, Beetee is so perceptive he could probably deduce what happened just by looking at me, seeing the errant sand particles clinging to my hair and clothes or noticing the dark purple bags under my eyes and piecing together what happened in his mind. But that isn't the aim of his game, he would rather me tell him, but thankfully, I can tell from his demeanour that his intentions don't contain a hint of malice and, like the caring friend he is, he just wants to make me feel better about what happened, so I opt to tell him and quickly blurt out my story so there's no going back.

"Fine, okay, you got me... I fell asleep, I'm sorry, I just, I've been so stressed out lately and haven't really slept in a long time and well, down on the beach everything was just so... Serene and relaxing and it got the better of me. I'm sorry... I hope you can forgive me, I didn't mean to let you down, I promise". He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder to calm me, "It's okay, you haven't let me down An, there is nothing you could do that would let me down, I promise." He smiles at me, I know his intentions are amicable, but I still feel awful. "I know exactly what you are going through, your life's pain is mine; the insomnia, the guilt, all of it, and the perennial limbo you live in, the eternal night... That's where I live Annie, ever since the Quell, but the funny thing is, I don't mind living there so much. I'm only there out of love really and while it does hurt, I'm more than willing to embrace it, because wearing this pain, like some terrible merit badge, I don't know, it shows how much I love her, how much she meant to me and how significant an impact she made on my life that when she was tragically ripped from me, I died too. Tragically only spiritually, but hey, hopefully one day..." He trails off, but I know exactly what he means and I can feel fresh, hot tears stinging my eyes; his words sound so pained, and each one is like a searing knife slicing into my heart, and the worst part of it is that he's right. We do feel the same way, and I can honestly say that I too cannot wait for death, but I cannot commit suicide, no, death has to be earned, through years of agony, living in their name, devoting our lives to showing how much we love them and making sure they are never forgotten!

Suddenly Beetee pulls me into his arms as I desperately sob on his shoulder, screaming and choking on my own heartbreak. He frantically says "I'm sorry Annie, I'm so sorry" and gently strokes my hair, but his actions provide little comfort. As much as I treasure our conversations, which really do help me, they do get incredibly heavy; with both of us experiencing such loss it's inevitable, 'just like a chemical reaction' as Beetee would say. "It's okay, I'm so sorry Annie, it's okay, it's going to be okay" he says, repeating the words like some kind of mantra, attempting to sooth me as he would a small child; I suppose I should feel slightly offended, I have always hated when people condescend to me, like they did following my games, treating me like a "poor mad girl", but I know inside that he means well and would never treat me so poorly. It's one of the things I have always loved about Beetee, and he is in a minority here, along with only Finnick and Peeta, of people who treat me like a fellow adult. As wonderful as Mags and Wiress were to me, they still treated me like a child; _their_ child, in a beautiful gesture which I will always treasure, but I realise I never appreciated enough when they were alive, just like I never appreciated Finnick and everything he did for me enough, yet another in a long list of things I feel guilty for.

For a long time I remain inconsolable, and continue to weep onto his shoulder, probably soaking his nice jacket in the process. We remain there indefinitely, neither of us saying a single word, with him holding me and stroking my back as I sit on his lap. I'm sure it must be uncomfortable for him, but being so selfless he doesn't complain once, and simply keeps attempting to calm me. Suddenly, as my sobs begin to quiet and fade, I realize that this is the first time I have felt close to another human being in quite some time; a shocking, but wonderful sensation that reminds me just how amazing the world can truly be, even if I'm not exactly a participant in it. In attempt to distract me from what just happened, Beetee fills the awkward silence by jokingly asking "So... Comfortable?" And I cannot help but burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of everything; how I fell apart, the way I'm sat on his lap, it all seems to silly and distant now. Wiping my eyes, attempting to hide my embarrassment, I smile sheepishly at him and apologise, "I'm sorry, I" and he interrupts me, "Don't, not another word An. From what I remember it was apologising that got us into this in the first place, so in our best interest, I will just say that we are both sorry, and everything is okay. Deal?" To which I eagerly respond "Deal!" As I stand up, brush myself off and return to my comfy chair.

"So, what woke you up?" he asks, "Was the prospect of seeing me again really _that_ exciting?" I wonder how someone more confident and more witty than me, like Finnick, would respond, probably with some kind of good-natured joke like 'You know it, I just can't get enough', but sadly, being only me, I simply respond by wearily saying "Oh, 'Baria called for Nicky Time". "Wait, Ria called!?" He asks, his complexion fading even whiter than usual as an expression of dread seems carved into his face. Upon noticing that Beetee is obviously fully aware of the intimidating woman's surprising, and fairly adorable crush on him, I realise, to my joy, that I too can be witty and begin teasing him, "Yeah, I invited her over, thought we could all spend some quality time together, what do you think Ted?" He sputters slightly, "R-Really? You, you invited her over? Here?" With everything within me I try to keep a straight face, but not even clenching my fists to distract myself from his brilliant reaction to my cruel jest is enough to stop me from laughing. My face instantly cracks into a huge smile as I explode into laughter so loud and boisterous, it's almost as if Enobaria actually did come over. "I'm sorry" I manage to get out through fits of giggles. Beetee laughs too, though much quieter than me, and while he is probably slightly embarrassed that I actually managed to fool him, he doesn't show it, in fact more than anything he just seems happy to see me laughing again; it's not often that someone manages to fool Beetee, only Wiress seemed capable of it, and to be honest I have serious doubts whether I actually did today, he probably just went along with it just to make me happy, as is how selfless, considerate and caring my dear friend is.

Throwing him my phone, I say "No, don't worry, you're safe, I won't let the evil 'Baria get you! She just wanted to send me a photo of Nicky Jr. It's on there somewhere, but I don't know how to get to it". After catching it, he instantly starts fiddling, trying to find the picture of my handsome boy, "Ah, here we go, is this it?" He holds up the phone, presenting me with the picture of Nicky and Johanna from earlier, and I cannot help but excitedly blurt out "Yes!" So incredibly excited to see my son again, even if she is in the photo. "How'd you do that Ted? You certainly know your way around the phone." "Well I ought to" he replies, smirking widely, "I did invent this model." "Well you're going to have to give me lessons on how to use it, if they are going to continue keeping my baby away from me. Honestly it feels like forever since I last saw him" I lament, despite knowing full well that, even though it hurts right now, it is definitely for our own good. Ever considerate, always with a kind response, Beetee quietly reassures me in his most gentle, comforting voice "Well, just give them time An, they'll figure out how foolish they've been and bring him straight back to you. I promise." But its no use, my mind is racing and my blood boiling, there is no redemption from it this time and I snap at my friend "Well it wouldn't have to be this way, not if he had his father to help, not if that bastard hadn't killed my Finnick!"

"I take it you mean Gale?" He asks, and I scream "Of course I mean Gale! Who else? He was the one who murdered Finnick, you saw the video!" "I did" he calmly responds. I stand up, all of my pent up rage and pain manifesting itself as wild, animalistic body movments. "Well you saw Gale lock Finnick in the sewers! You saw him throw him to those lizards! They could have easily saved him Ted, he only got bit a few times, so had all the others; he was far from dead! But no! That bastard saw his opportunity and he murdered him, claiming that there was 'nothing he could do'. My Finny was stronger than that, he could have, no, _would_ have survived, everyone knew it. That's why Katniss ran after him, but by then it was too late, that evil bastard had already won". Beetee doesn't look up, probably for fear of further encouraging me, should I see something that I don't like in his expression, he just continues looking straight ahead, probably upset by my behaviour, but not that surprised, an idea which only serves to enrage me more. He eventually responds in a carefully measured voice "Well Annie, I'm not sure if it was entirely like that". "What do you mean!?" I scream, "Of course it was! You know exactly what he was like! You got along with him until he found out how close you were to Peeta, and then he hated you! Well that's how he was with Finnick, he hated Finnick for being so close to Peeta. Finnick loved Peeta. Peeta was like a little brother to him, and when it came to Katniss, Finnick always tried to support and help him. Not many people know this Ted but one time, when we were in 13, Finnick and Gale almost fought each other. Gale stormed in the lunch area and threatened him to stop helping Peeta win over Katniss, he even made gay insinuations, well Finnick stood up and was about to hit Gale, if not for me. I noticed a guard raising his weapon at Finnick, ready to shoot him should he hurt Coin's golden boy, so I started screaming bloody murder, and Finnick came to my aid, forgetting all about Gale... I saved him, but only that one time, not when it really counted... And now, because of Gale, because of that monster everything has been taken from me; my Finnick, my son, my life, my sanity, _everything_!"

He continues to look away, wisely not wanting to add fuel to the inferno, but I can see just how terrible he feels from the solemn, agonised expression he wears. "I'm sorry Annie" he begins, "I'm so sorry. You're right, initially we did get along, and unbelievably I even called one of his plans 'brilliant', but that was before I really knew him. I know what he was capable of, and I would never doubt anything you said for a second, but I just... I don't think its worth dwelling on Annie." "Why!? Why isn't it worth dwelling on!?" I scream, my wrath inevitably and tragically targeting one of the kindest people I have ever known. I would do anything to stop myself, to apologise and beg his forgiveness, but I'm far too weak, too susceptible to bouts of fury, and can never find the strength to help myself, finding it just too easy to allow my ire to overwhelm me, I just hope my friend can find it within his generous heart to forgive me yet again. "He took everything from me Ted! Everything!" "I know, but it's just not worth it" he responds. "Why?" I ask. "Because it'll tear your soul apart!" He allows the gravitas of his words to hit me before continuing, "Honour Finnick, cherish his memory and love your son! But try not to dwell on it, even though I know its impossible not to, because there's nothing you can do. You forget Annie, I know exactly how you feel, not just the pain, but the rage too! I too want nothing more than to unleash hell on those that killed my family, and I know it's terrible of me, but I don't care, I want would do _anything_ for vengeance! Retribution for what they did to us and our loved ones... But I can't, Katniss killed Gloss and now I have to live with the pain of not only Wy's death, but the fact that there is literally nothing, _nothing_, I can do about it! Aside from living every day in her honour that is; it's something me and Wy were forced to learn some time ago, when our daughter was reaped". He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a picture of a beautiful, sharp-chinned girl with fiery red hair, obviously his daughter, but the gesture isn't needed; I remember her days as a tribute quite vividly, from her displays of a simply gargantuan intellect, to her finding love within the arena, to her eventual suicide, but more than anything I remember seeing Beetee and Wiress following the death of their daughter, and knowing inside, despite their calm manner, just how destroyed they both clearly were.

"She was our everything, ripped from us in mere seconds; a moment of pain for her, a lifetime of agony for us and as with Wy and Finnick's death, well there was nothing we could do. It almost killed us Annie, _almost_. We found solace in each other, and despite the fact that we wanted nothing more than to do something, _anything_, about it, we couldn't! We could do nothing but grieve, left alone with the most horrific thoughts imaginable, until the mere memory of the girl we raised, the girl we adored, became like a poison of the soul. It was awful Annie, until we found the best way to honour her memory; not by brooding eternally, but by honouring her name, and doing so much good for her! That's why we joined the Rebellion, to create world where no parent had to experience our grief, to create a better world in her honour. At that point I didn't realise that I would be waging the war on the behalf of _both_ of my beloved girls, instead of just one." He sighs, and wipes away a single tear, "I live every day for them, it's what they would have wanted, and even though everything has been taken from me, I just... I want to help the world, for them, before I can earn the right to go gentle into that good night. You still have Finnick junior, and soon you'll get him back, I promise, and when you do, you spoil him, you hold him and you never let him go, give him the best life possible, for his father's sake. Because you know he'll always be watching you An, and will always be waiting for you, somewhere beyond the sea".


End file.
